He took the first step. For a terrifying moment his moccasin seemed to sink into the little sparks of light rather than rest upon them. But it was as if the bridge were made of some springy substance, and the sole of his foot did not fall through it. He took another step. Now he had both feet on the bridge. His heart was thundering, the blood roaring through his ears.
How could a bridge be made of nothing but light? How could a man stand on it?
One more step forward. His leg shook so hard he could barely put his foot down. His knees quivered. His body screamed at him to go back.
Another step, and this would be the hardest. Now he could see the abyss below him. He was out over it. He looked down, his whole body quaking. He breathed in quick bursts, and saw little clouds in front of his face in the starlight.
Another step, and another. For balance, his trembling hands went out from his sides. He looked down. The river was solid ice, and the stars reflected on its smooth black surface. If he fell he would hit that ice so hard every one of his bones would break.
He teetered dizzily. He looked to the left and the right and saw that the edges of the bridge were just on either side of him. He could topple over and nothing would stop him. Where was the White Bear?
Fear would make him fall. Even if this bridge of lights still held his weight, it was so narrow that he must surely lose his balance and die.
But if it holds me, I must be meant to live. And if I am meant to live, I will not be allowed to fall.
It was only his fear that was making the bridge feel so precarious. He knew that the more he believed, the safer it would be for him.
Never turn your back on fear, he remembered Owl Carver saying. Never try to drive it away. Fear is your friend. It warns you of danger.